


A Series of Moonlit Drabbles

by PrinceofKawaii



Series: Moonlit Walks Universe [2]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Anything goes - Freeform, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, F/M, I told you I wasn't done, M/M, Prompt Fic, Taking all of the requests
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-02-10
Packaged: 2018-05-18 01:59:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5893780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrinceofKawaii/pseuds/PrinceofKawaii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I'm baaaaaack.</p><p>To apologize for the ending of "Moonlit Walks, Coffee, and a Dragon", I'm here to post a bunch of cute fics (and possibly not so cute ones) based on suggestions from you guys! Just toss me a line with a prompt, and I'll try my darnedest to make it happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Weightless

**Author's Note:**

> This is for InfrequentlyBlue and sin_png, who seemed to want cute things about Sans' weight.
> 
> So have frustrated Reader reflecting on HOW AWFUL OF A BOYFRIEND THEY HAVE. (without actually meaning that.)

One of the most fascinating things about your boyfriend was his weight. Being made of literally nothing but bones, as heavy, sturdy, and magic-filled they may have been, caused his mass to struggle as a result. Sure, under certain circumstances he could make himself heavier, like when Frisk ran full tilt at him and leapt into his arms, or to avoid being thrown around the room by one of Undyne’s good-natured punches in the arm, but for the vast majority (read: 98%) of the time, he weighed maybe fifty pounds. That’s about as much as a small child. Certainly much less than Frisk themselves weighed at this point.

For some things, it was useful. For others… not so much.

One of the nice things about having a boyfriend that weighed so little, was that when he fell asleep on the couch, you could pick him up without all that much difficulty and go place him in bed, and tuck him in. Sometimes you’d follow Papyrus’ example with you, picking Sans up and giving him a good natured twirl if you had an exceptional day, and pressing a kiss to his teeth. You made sure not to do that all too much, however, because you knew that it made him slightly tense.

You had to keep him on his toes sometimes, though.

For his size, though, he was remarkably strong, even if a lot of the time he refused to show it, or was entirely too lazy to even bother. Like, he _could_ easily lift you, and he has, and he could have definitely helped you bring that new couch into your apartment after the last one got trashed _for some reason_ , but he didn’t. Papyrus had to help you with that one.

You’re never going to let that go.

But anyway, there are a couple ways that his weight is remarkably inconvenient. Or, you should say, his ability to increase it was incredibly inconvenient. Like right now. Right now was incredibly inconvenient.

Last night Sans had fallen asleep on your couch, again, and being the good person you were, you opted to move your boyfriend into your bed when you were finally tired enough to crash. That was fine enough, despite how bony and uncomfortable he could be at times, you rather enjoyed his company, and the way he would lazily run a hand over your side or scratch at your scalp lightly when he was conscious but not awake in the slightest.

Despite it being Sunday, you had somewhere to be, though, and when you reached up and turned off your alarm, you tried to roll your way out of bed. That didn’t happen. In fact, Sans reached out and wrapped his arms around your waist and coaxed you back to bed for “a few minutes”. You decided you could indulge him, because that’s cute, and he’s cute.

But he’s not cute at all. He’s an asshole.

He’d given you a few smooches, half laying on you, but then promptly… “fell asleep”. You know he’s not asleep. There is no way he’s asleep right now. You know that fact because your boyfriend almost quite literally weighs a fucking ton and you’re trapped underneath him as he fake-slumbers.

“Saaaaaaaans,” you whine, exasperated. “I need to get ready!”

His response is a series of him saying the letter “Z” over and over. You’re torn between wanting to laugh and wanting to smack him. You settle for squirming more, and trying to continue to shove him off of your body. This isn’t fair.

Sans’ body curls more protectively over yours.

After an hour of struggling, you finally give up, trying to go back to sleep. But not before grumbling something about him being a spoiled brat. You can feel the way his face splits into a grin where it’s pressed against your neck.


	2. Heartbeat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans has a particular fascination with your heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is for InfrequentlyBlue and Kibbits! :)
> 
> Sorry It's so short. D:

The first time his head rested against your chest, he’d jerked back in surprise. You couldn’t remember the context of the situation – maybe you were hugging, or something – but you distinctly recall the way that he’d jolted back as though burned, eye sockets wide. He hadn’t done that again for a while, and his body language had been off somehow. You hadn’t been sure of what it was at the time. He wouldn’t tell you these things until much later.

The second time, he jerked and then stilled, seeming to swallow his pride during this. You’d wondered if maybe he wasn’t comfortable with physical affection, so you tried to keep it brief.

The third time, the two of you were lying together on the equipment at the park, as per usual, and that time he’d asked you if he could do it. You were taken aback, but you shrugged and let him lay his bony head on your chest. You didn’t mind the contact all that much. He’d taken in a sharp breath (you still weren’t sure how he breathed, or even if he actually did or just faked it) and lifted his head slightly before settling back down against you.

It was startling to him to hear a human heartbeat. The strong, steady _bu-bump, bu-bump_ that kept your life force flowing within you.

The fifth time it happened, you were ready. You unleashed a wealth of information for him that left him in awe – showing places on your body where your heart beat could be felt through your pulse, and he marveled at the idea that you could still feel the steady thrum so far away from your chest. He’d pressed his fingers to the one on your wrist, head resting against your chest to hear and feel the way that your most vital organ pushed the blood around your body. It was still a steady _bu-bump, bu-bump_ , but your pulse was ever so slightly off time to it. It did take some modicum of time to reach your extremities, after all.

The pulse point on your neck was supremely interesting. There your heartbeat felt the strongest, and he almost liked the way that your lips would part slightly if he pressed a touch too hard.

When he discovered that your heartbeat changed under certain circumstances, though, it became a game to him to discover new ways to raise the rate of the beats. At night, when you were sleeping and he couldn’t, he discovered it was still steady, but slower and sort of fainter. When you were exerting yourself during one of your energetic excursions with Papyrus and Frisk, or with Undyne, or running for the door to beat him inside, it was much stronger, much quicker. More of a _BAM BAM BAM_.

When aroused, your heart rate would be heavy, fast, light, and strong all at once. It was a curious sound, and he found it incredibly interesting to listen to when combined with your quick breaths, flushed skin, and the sound of your voice calling out to him. It sounded suspiciously similar to fear.

When you were flustered, your heartbeat kicked up. Fast and almost sort of shallow sounding, fluttering in your chest. He liked this one the best. It reminded him of a hummingbird.

 You were a symphony of sounds, of feelings, and Sans was like your conductor, always telling your heart which way he’d like it to beat next.


	3. Once Upon a Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is dumb, don't read this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is self-indulgent nonsense, really. I had this dumb idea and had to write it down.
> 
> It's probably not canon.

_“I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream_  
_I know you, the gleam in your eyes is so familiar a gleam_  
 _Yet I know it’s true that visions are seldom as they seem_  
 _But if I know you, I know what you’ll do_  
 _You’ll love me at once, the way you did once upon a dream…”_

You’re dancing around the park, song bursting from your lungs because although you’re in your twenties you have zero chill. It’d been a whim, really, the song stuck in your head. You’d distinctly remembered having dreams of a warm, deep voice, but you didn’t know what it said. You just remember warmth, both physical and almost spiritual. You didn’t have to worry about feeling silly, being alone in the middle of the night, and out here you felt safe as you made an ass of yourself. A grown person in pajamas, dancing like no one is watching.

You’re not a very good singer, or dancer, but you’re having fun.

You do think that maybe you should stop watching Disney movies before bed, however.  
  
_“But if I know you, I know what you’ll do –“_

_“*you’ll love me at once, the way you did once upon a dream.”_

You start at the sound of the voice – it was completely unexpected, and you didn’t know how to react to it. Not only did someone find you, but they were singing along. You wonder if they’d just had the most remarkable timing in the world to join right at the exact moment in the song they were supposed to, or if they’d been waiting for the opportunity to jump in at the right time. You don’t know which one is worse.

Turning around, you see a skeleton monster winking at you before holding his hand out as though he’s requesting a dance. You flush darkly, staring at him as he chuckles before launching into more of the song. This stranger seemed to be alright. At least he was a fan of Disney music, too.

_“*i know you, I walked with you once upon a dream,  
i know you, the gleam in your eyes is so familiar a gleam,”_

You watch as he steps closer, and offers his hand again. You open your mouth to tell him you have two left feet, but something compels you to take his hand, and the two of you start to dance, you following his tentative lead. It seemed like he knew as much about dancing as you did, and the two of you stumble your way through a mockery of a ballroom dance.

The two of you continue singing together, and you find his smile to be remarkably contagious, so you smile widely at him, and watch as his grin seems to get even wider in response.

_“And I know it’s true that visions are seldom as they seem,”  
“*and i know it’s true that visions are seldom as they seem,”_

_“But if I know you, I know what you’ll do,”  
“*but if i know you, i know what you’ll do,”_

_“You’ll love me at once, the way you did once upon a dream…”  
“*you’ll love me at once, the way you did once upon a dream…”_

The stranger twirls you, and then you’re led into a rather impressive dip that has you squeaking and wrapping your arms around his shoulders. You don’t know if you can trust him not to let you fall. You notice that no effort has been made to pull you back up yet, though, and you notice the way that his gaze is wistful.

“*it’s been such a long time.”

You awaken with a start, breathing heavily and clutching your face in your hands. You don’t know what that was, but it’d felt so real. There was remarkable sensation, color, everything.

You sigh, wondering if you’ll ever meet someone like that.

Glancing at the clock, you realize it’s still hours before you need to wake, and decide to settle down, quickly forgetting about the dream entirely.

But much, much later, after you’ve moved into your new apartment, you feel an ache in your chest whenever you look down the hallway on your right.


	4. Coat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A reflection on Sans' coat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I remember being inspired to write this by someone, but I can't remember who. I even scoured my inbox.
> 
> Oh well. Here's a thing for you all.

The coat was nothing all that terribly special, if you were honest with yourself. It was a blue jacket, somewhere on the cusp of a fall or winter weather model, with that slightly shiny material that made that strange _woosh-scratch_ sound as it rubbed against itself. The inside was lined with dark-blue fabric that may have been soft when it was still new, and the hood had a removable fur liner. It was worn from having been owned for literal years, and there were bits of it that had been repaired. The cuffs were a little frayed at the edges, and stained, and there were older, faded stains around the chest and pockets. It smelled of ketchup, old books, and musk.

Your relationship with Sans could, oddly enough, be measured in eras based on that jacket.

In the beginning, it was always worn. Every single time you saw him, he’d be wearing the jacket. Always in the same fashion, too, with his hands in his pockets and the front unzippered so that it hung down his form and gave him shape. He’d only take his hands out to gesture at something, really.

After some time, his hands would mostly be out of the pockets, and he began talking much more animatedly with them, though his gestures themselves were still fluid and lazy in nature. His hand would often find yours, or vice versa, and the two of you would sit that way.

In these eras, even if he came to your apartment in the middle of the night, he was still wearing that jacket, indicating that he’d felt the need to grab that above all else. You think there was something about it that let him feel guarded and safe. You hadn’t blamed him, it was a relic from his home, at least three years old, though by the time you found out about RESET you were certain that from his perspective it must’ve been a decade.

You’d have gotten attached to a jacket you had that long, too, probably. It was a constant – one of the only things that was.

Eventually, he started taking it off in your presence. He still brought it with him, still kept it on or near his person at all times, but he would take it off, and that would be enough.

You were with him one night, snuggled into his side, when he did something that you hadn’t expected. Because you were cold, he simply took his jacket and drew away so that he could put it on you like one might dress a child. Despite the fact that it was musty and smelled like old ketchup, with worn sleeves and stains, you couldn’t help but be incredibly touched by the gesture. It was warm, and while the lining was rough with age, and the fur was slightly matted you loved it, and you snuggled back into his side.

You were honored that he would share it with you.

But even that couldn’t compare to the first time that he’d shown up in your apartment without a single trace of it. You couldn’t help but think that this was the first time you’d seen him so unguarded. That it was a metaphor for everything you’d gone through together. That he’d finally let you in completely.

Despite the fact that it wasn’t draped over you, cozy as your favorite blanket, you couldn’t help but feel warmer than ever.


	5. Domesticity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After college, you, Sans, and Papyrus get a house.
> 
> It's grossly adorable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's for sin_png. I'm a sucker for domesticity.
> 
> Don't let the fic fool you - just because Sans is doing dishes, doesn't mean him and Reader stopped being slobs. You should see their bedrooms.

While the new house that you were renting to own was exciting, the novelty quickly wore off, and a routine quickly settled in. It wasn’t all that different from what you had going on with Sans and Papyrus before, when the three of you had lived down the hall from each other in the apartment buildings, but now instead of leaving the doors unlocked for each other to wander in whenever you wanted, it was a shared space. You were still upset that Sans and Papyrus couldn’t put their names on the lease as well, as the three of you were paying for the house together, but it’d come in time. The Monster Rights movement was progressing quite quickly in a historical context, but in a day to day one it was slow, sluggish, and inconvenient at best.

Despite having his own room, Sans more often than not slept in your room. It was much more convenient now than it had been previously, Sans not having to waste his magic on a shortcut if he was distressed, or having to skulk through the common hallway to make his way into your apartment. Now he merely had to cross the hall. He quickly learned not to knock, and instead just lifted the corners of your covers and climbed in with you before trying to find the restful sleep that eluded him.

At roughly nine-thirty every night, it was story time. You were thanking your lucky stars you’d finally finished college, and now that you were working you could actually afford the time to join Sans where he perched on the edge of his brother’s bed, a book in hand. The two of you would read it together, sometimes softly, and sometimes with dramatic character voices that caused Papyrus’ face to light up with absolute glee. Other times, only one of you would read the story, but the two of you would always be there to enjoy it and support each other.

The three of you would watch a movie every Friday night, and play board games in the evenings on Sundays, winding down before the week started again the following morning. You’d needed the wind down on Sundays, as switching from night classes to a nine-to-five job was especially rough. Part of you regretted the schedule because if Sans woke you when he climbed into your bed after suffering from a nightmare and you comforted him like a good partner would, it left you tired and distracted the next day.

You were selfish, wishing that you didn’t have to choose between work and your boyfriend.

You still chose him. There would always be another job, but there would never be another Sans.

It’s nearly four months of living in this house, and you can smell the way that cookies are baking in the kitchen. Sans had had a rare moment and insisted he make some, and like hell you and Papyrus were going to complain about cookies. The three of you had finished dinner, and were just working on the dishes, washing the ones that Sans had used in baking the cookies, and the ones from dinner as well.

Papyrus washed, Sans dried, you put them away. It was a rather efficient system.

You have a moment of clarity, as you hold a plate in your hands, spacing out into nothingness when Sans nudges you with his elbow, wondering what’s up. And then you laugh, truly laugh, reaching up to put the plate away. You turn to them, the absurdity of everything catching up with you like a freight train.

“Holy shit, look at us,” you wheeze, gesturing at the three of you in your line, doing dishes. You ignore Papyrus’ scolding about the swear jar, and run a hand over your face.

Sans blinks, not quite getting it. “*what about us?”

“We’re just – Look at us, standing here, all doing the dishes together. How many times have we done this now? When did this even start?”

Even Papyrus has to think about that one. “I… AM NOT SURE, ACTUALLY. IT JUST SORT OF HAPPENED.”

Sans' eyes widen in realization, understanding dawning on him. He looks down at the plate in his hands, towel wrapped around the edges of it. He was drying dishes and making cookies. What was life, even.

"*holy shit," he reiterates, voice awed. "*i'm like some sort of housemonster."

"I know, right?? We're so  _domestic_."

Papyrus shifts so that he can drag you both into a hug, his wet hands causing damp spots on the back of both of your shirts. "ISN'T IT WONDERFUL?"

This hadn't been the future you'd ever pictured for yourself, but you couldn't help but think that Papyrus was right.

It was pretty spectacular.


	6. Papyrus vs The Bad Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You have a terrible day at work. Papyrus helps you feel better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for ink_for_the_soul !
> 
> Could always use more Papyrus in my life. He's the most precious cinnamon roll.

 Work had been hell today. You weren’t doing what you graduated college for as of yet, but you worked a retail job, and that was good enough, and you did some art stuff on the side for commissions. Working retail wasn’t as bad as a lot of people made it out to be – the place you worked was generally pretty chill, but it must’ve been a full moon or something because today was just absolutely wild. It was so unbelievably busy that there hadn’t been enough staff to efficiently handle the sudden influx of customers. From the start of your shift to the hour you’d had to stay overtime to cope was positively brutal.

Everyone was irritable at the lines and the lack of staff, so many customers were short with you, and the store had had its fair share of complaints throughout the day. Not to mention a lot of the passing conversation you heard from a lot of your human customers about the monsters sharing the air they breathed in a store that specifically said on the front that it was monster friendly. But you had a reason to take that stuff personally.

If it wouldn’t cost you your job, you’d have been all over telling those people off. The best you could manage was to treat the monsters at your till with respect and apologetic smiles.

And because you were off a little later, the streets were flooded with traffic and the bus was chalk full of people. Being on your feet for nine hours was exhausting, and you couldn’t even sit down. You did, however, have a conversation with a nice monster couple, commenting on how cute their child was. It helped pass the time and ease the beast of rage that was slumbering just beneath your skin.

You don’t open the door until quarter after seven, and instantly Papyrus is there, wondering where you’ve been and why it’d taken you so long to get home, and why in the name of Asgore you looked so haggard. You learn that Sans isn’t at home, and you figured he was probably taking care of some things, or maybe he was locked up in the workshop that you guys had had built in the back yard.

Papyrus coaxes you out of your coat, even so much as helping you remove it before hanging it up for you as you kick off your shoes. He then tells you to go get changed while he makes you a tea, and you give him a tired, but very genuine smile before trudging up the stairs to your bedroom to go do just that.

You come down in a pair of pajama pants Papyrus had gotten you for Christmas (your favorite pair, if you’re honest), and one of Sans’ t-shirts that you’d found while digging around in your drawer. It said “Wanna trombone?” and had a picture of a trombone on it. He never wore it – it was just one of those novelty things that you both had huge affinities for. You thought it was fucking hilarious.

Papyrus is already on the couch when you get down there, a blanket on his lap, your tea on the coffee table, and The Nightmare Before Christmas’ menu on the TV. Your heart melts at the sight, and you eagerly curl up on the couch next to him resting your cheek against his ribcage while he wraps an arm around you comfortingly.

Your tea was made surprisingly perfectly, and you smile at no one in particular.

“ARE YOU FEELING BETTER?”

“Papyrus,” you murmur, and you feel your heart do a funny flip in your chest, “you are the best brother anyone could ask for.”

The look on his face makes all the shit you went through today more than worth it.

“SO, YOU CONSIDER ME FAMILY THEN?” He’s so excited, and you give a soft laugh, nodding against the side of his chest. “OH MY GOSH. THAT’S WONDERFUL. I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT TO SAY.”

“I’ve always thought of you as family, Pap,” you assure him, and the squeeze he gives you causes the air to woosh out of your lungs again, and your tea to almost spill.

“IT’S JUST NICE TO HEAR YOU CONFIRM IT. OUT LOUD. I’VE ALWAYS THOUGHT YOU TO BE AN EXEMPLIARY SIBLING, YOURSELF. SECOND ONLY TO ME, THE GREAT PAPYRUS.”

“You got that right.”

The two of you hold each other for several moments, before you’re choking on a sip of tea.

“NOW WE ONLY NEED CONFIRM IT THROUGH YOU AND SANS GETTING HUMAN MARRIED!”


	7. Muse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You need a model for an art project, and you volunteer your boyfriend for the job.
> 
> He's not super okay with that, but he does it anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> InfrequentlyBlue, this one's for you. 
> 
> WOOP WOOP.  
> ALL ABOARD THE DORK TRAIN.

_verte-bae 11:00pm_

_I just got off of class, and I have an assignment due on Monday.  
Wanna help me work on it?_

_Sansational 11:10pm_

_you need me to help with your homework?  
unless it’s physics or magic, i have to say i’m not gonna do a bang up job._

_verte-bae 11:13pm_

_Rude._  
_Actually, it’s an art project._  
_I wanna draw you like one of my French girls._

_Sansational 11:17pm_

_is that a reference from yet another movie i need to watch?_

_verte-bae 11:20pm_

_Eh.  
If you’re into weird romance movies and disasters that kill hundreds of people._

_Sansational 11:22pm_

_fair enough.  
can we do this tomorrow?_

_verte-bae 11:25pm_

_Not a problem, big guy. I’m not even home yet._

_Sansational 11:28pm_

_alright, text me when you’re home. but otherwise, bone nuit._

_verte-bae 11:35pm_

_Bone nuit, mon coeur. <3_

* * *

 

 

He shows up at your apartment in the early afternoon, and the two of you enjoy a grilled cheese lunch that you both end up dunking in ketchup. Sans because he’s Sans, and you because… fuck it. It’s not actually too bad, really. Not that much different from having them with tomato soup. You still don’t understand his intense obsession with condiments, but there were occasions where it made a lot of culinary sense to not only indulge him, but also join in.

Once the two of you are done, Sans turns to you, licking his teeth to remove any remaining traces of food from them. You’d found out that food had to be in his mouth for it to be processed by his system. It made sense, but it was still an interesting little tidbit. There had to be some sort of strange, magical mechanic specific to a monster’s digestive system. Or lack thereof, in Sans' case.

“*so, what did you need my help with?”

“Oh yeah. Well, I’m doing this assignment for art, right? And it’s sort of like an anatomical study. Instead of just using a single model for the whole class, we’re actually being tasked with finding our own models this time.” You reach over and grab a sip of water to try and make your mouth feel a little fresher from lunch. There was still a distinct grittiness from the crumbs leftover.

“*and… you wanted me to be that model.”

“Muse, actually,” you correct, and he looks at you with cautious confusion. “You’re not just my model; you’re my muse. Big difference.”

“*why not just get a human model? wouldn’t that be easier?”

“I didn’t want a human model. I wanted you.” You take a moment to pause, deciding to be nice and avoid mentioning the splash of blue across your boyfriend’s ivory cheekbones. “I mean, it was either you or Papyrus. Maybe Undyne.”

“*traitor,” he teases. “*i bet you totally think she’s hot.”

“I think she’s a _reel catch_ ,” you say, with a cheeky grin, enjoying the sound of his laughter. “But seriously, you don’t gotta do it if you don’t feel comfortable. I mean, it is an assignment. My teacher is gonna see it. My classmates, too. We do peer review stuff.”

He seems to hesitate, but eventually caves. You count this as a victory and whoop joyously, drawing Sans into a tight embrace and give him a hearty kiss on the cheek as thanks. You urge him to bring a bar stool into the living room and place it in front of the one bare wall in your living room, eagerly going to get your easel and supplies from your office. It takes two whole trips, and Sans looks awkward sitting there on the stool waiting for you. Part of you feels bad for this, but you really genuinely can’t wait to try and put him down on paper.

Art wasn’t even your major, it was your minor. Your major was a lot more book heavy. Art was just time consuming, and only a couple days a week – Tuesday and Friday.

You finally get everything settled, and breathe out a sigh of relief, grabbing one of your charcoals and humming.

“Okay, I’m ready. I’ll just do a warm-up sketch of you for now, and you can check it out and see if you’re still good to go, alright? We’ll start easy, and slowly work up from there. Because man, what an asshole I’d be if I just straight up told you to strip for me right now.”

His cheeks are nearly a florescent shade of blue, and he fiddles with the cuffs on his sleeves, looking awkward as all get out. “*okay. sounds good.”

He doesn’t really get more than the “okay” out before you’re starting to sketch fluid lines on the page, working quickly because you like this look on him and you want to capture it. It’s raw and unabashed and you’d rather have this to start with than telling him to pose and have the drawing end up looking stiff. Blocking in his shape is simple enough when he’s wearing clothing – he’s rounder, softer, almost, and his features are positively fascinating. You want to instill as much life into your work as possible.

He’s beautiful and you want the entire world to know about it.

Peeking around the canvas again, you start adding some details – not many, but enough to know for sure it’s Sans you’re looking at, and enough for you to go back and shade it later. You know he’s uncomfortable, so you’d rather not waste his time with needless nitpicking and shading to make sure the light is just right. That will come in time.

“You can move now,” you tell him, not meaning to sound as dismissive if you did. “Sorry, that came out worse than I expected. I meant that you can come over here and see, and stuff.”

He hesitates. “*are you sure? i’ve only been sitting here for a couple minutes since you started.”

You give him a thumbs up from where you’re hidden behind your easel, arm straight out so that he can see it properly. You hear his feet hit the floor, and his slippers pad against it as he walks over. You’re still putting in more detail work, starting to shade in areas that you could get away with thus far. You’ll rework it and rework it until it comes out just right, but this was just a test image for now. It’d help you loosen up and get back into the swing of things. The real ones you needed were him sans clothing.

You snort loudly, covering your mouth as he walks over to you, your cheeks heating up. Sans clothing. Oh god, you were the worst.

“*what’s so funny?”

You tell him, and he’s somewhere in the middle between blanching, blushing, and giving a snort like the one that you did. It sounds kind of choked because of the mixed emotions he had about it. It’s hard being an artist, and everyone understands.

Beckoning him over, you stand back and let him get a proper look of your drawing so far. You were pretty damn alright at life drawing, but you weren’t Rembrandt. There was still a lot of room to grow in your craft – which was more or less a passionate hobby of yours. You never intend on making it your actual career.

That doesn’t help you feel any less self-conscious, though, when Sans takes in the picture, and from your position you can’t see his face to determine the expression he’s wearing. You shift your weight awkwardly.

“*this barely took you any time at all,” he manages after several moments of your awkward shifting behind him, the charcoal staining your hand black as you play with it. “*i don’t look like that, do i? i mean – “

Well, it’s not perfect,” you defend instinctively, but he turns to you and gives you this soft, almost vulnerable smile. In that moment you understand what he’d really meant by that. Your expression softens in turn, and you give him a smile of your own. “You’re even better than the art.”

You _relish_ in the flush that spreads over his cheeks.

“Now, we still game for some of the more difficult stuff? We can take it one article of clothing at a time,” you practically purr, teasing him now. The look on his face is absolutely priceless. He’s all wide-eyes and flushed cheeks, and he looks about ready to splutter indignantly. Sometimes you swear that he cannot handle being sexualized, and it’s really fucking cute. Like a ‘does not compute’ sort of thing.

“*no, that’s awful, why would you say that?” He’s so flustered it’s hilarious. “*let’s just get it over and done with.”

“Hey, man, you’re the one who said it, not me,” you cheerfully remind him, holding up your hands in defense while he begins to awkwardly strip for you. It’s really hard not to wolf-whistle at him, or cheer him on. Gotta keep this professional – though you’ve already failed immensely at that, and you’re blushing so hard you swear it’s creeping down your neck.

You probably should have gotten an impartial model for this, instead of urging your boyfriend to strip naked in your living room while you do an anatomical study for an art class that involves staring intensely at his naked body. To be fair, you were never the best at decision making.

He’s still standing near you, one arm ramrod straight across his body, fingers curled slightly against his palm where it’s settled in front of his pubic bone. The other arm is curled toward his body, clutching his humerus. He’s standing awkward and shy, and you let out a breath you don’t know you’re holding, flipping the page and beginning to sketch furiously. He starts to move, mouth parting to inquire as to what the hell you think you’re doing, but you tell him to stay there.

You don’t want your art to be awkward, stiff poses. You want it to be him. Candid art wasn’t something you really saw yourself doing before, but with Sans it was perfect. Capturing the light and personality of someone was perfect. You wanted to do this more often.

You’re sketching line after line, eagerly glancing over to make sure you’re getting his bone structure correct. All the while, your heart is beating furiously in your chest, and your face has a smile so wide, and so encompassing, and it never wavers.

He can see what you’re doing from where he's standing, and you can see out of your peripheral vision that he’s trying very hard not to shift awkwardly, but he does anyway.

It takes you twenty minutes to furiously work on your piece, and unlike the other one, you find yourself continuing to work on it, adding the way that the light creates contrast, and the flush on his cheeks, and the way that he’s glancing at you out of the corners of his eyes, his smile awkward, but genuine.

You finally step back after you’re done, taking in the whole of the piece for a moment, before stepping back and fixing up a few minor details, but. There. You’re done.

You’re still no Rembrandt, but you love this portrait. It makes your heart do weird flippy things in your chest.

“Sit your fine-ass self down on the couch, and I’ll do one more. And then you can put your clothes back on, and I’ll do some vague character studies. I love your hands, and the profile of your face, and the way your neck curves when you look over your shoulder, and –“ You’re gushing, you can’t help it.

A hand on your shoulder blade startles you out of your reverie, and you turn to look at Sans. Turning to him, you place a hand on either side of his face, slowly sliding them down to his shoulders, taking in the curve of his jawbone, and every notch on the vertebrae that make up his neck, and the way his clavicle sits. And then you take note of the way that his mouth fits against yours when he drags you down into a kiss, deciding that your art can wait a moment longer.

You realize vaguely, as your eyes are closing, that your hand and the charcoal you forgot to drop were staining his features, and you think that you like the contrast it makes.

Maybe you'll do two more of him like this, you think, trailing your hand over his shoulder to smudge more of the color over him. It'll make a lovely conversation piece. Especially when they notice the hand print on his cheek.


	8. Cold, Wet, and Sticky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During a movie night, you decide that ice cream should be a thing.
> 
> Unfortunately, three people in a kitchen can be pretty messy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My mom essentially titled this chapter.
> 
> Find me on tumblr at: http://imtheprinceofkawaii.tumblr.com !
> 
> ALSO! I GOT A PIECE OF FANART! Days later and I'm still screaming at it. I'm SO HAPPY! http://summerbxy.tumblr.com/post/138798049862/a-coffee-and-a-trip-to-the-park-aka-my-current

Sans, Papyrus, and Reader decide to make sundaes. They get very messy.

It was once again movie night at the brothers’ house, and as it was spring break for you, you could care less where you were or how late you were up. You had an entire week to ruin your life before frantically trying to get things back to normal, after all. Might as well go a little nuts in the process, grab a condo on the shoreline. You’ve heard Crazy has beautiful weather this time of year. It didn’t really matter if Sans was working during the week – Papyrus wasn’t, and you’d greatly enjoy just chilling with him.

First things first, though. You had to celebrate your week off. Hence the fact that it was movie night.

The regular snacks have been gotten, and the three of you have been munching away out of a bowl that was essentially Russian Roulette with chip flavors. There was portions of several different flavors thrown in there, including parts of imported bags from Canada. You’d thought that that would be a nice treat for Sans, and had waited several weeks for the bags in the mail. There was no disappointment at all, just a whole lot of Ketchup flavored chips, and a few bags of All Dressed, because what the fuck does that even mean?

Canadians are weird.

Once your movie is over, you take the bowl off of your lap and put it on the table, getting up. Sans, who had been leaning heavily on you, nearly falls into Papyrus, but catches himself with a surprising quickness that belies his usual demeanor. He makes some sort of grunt that you can’t interpret, and you stretch, your spine cracking. At that, you can feel the winces from behind you and you mutter some sort of apology before turning to look over your shoulder at them.

“Next order of business,” you say, cheerfully, to their uncomfortable expressions, “is ice cream!”

That seems to snap them out of it, and Papyrus practically jumps off the couch with a whoop of joy and an energy you could never hope to match, even on your best days. “ICE CREAM!”

Sans lets out a chuckle, and extracts himself from his slumped position on the couch so that he can stand and stretch as well. You lead your favorite skeletons (they were the only skeletons you knew, but even so they would still be your favorite) to the kitchen and pull out the carton of vanilla from the freezer. This is quickly followed by several different toppings from the cupboard, ranging from chocolate sauce, to berry compotes, and even Oreos and sprinkles. You hadn’t known what they’d like, so you’d gotten a variety of things.

You resist the urge to crack your fingers before getting started in dishing out the ice cream.

Everything goes well until it’s time for you all to dress up your bland bowls with all manner of whatever the hell you feel like.

“THE CARAMEL SEEMS TO HAVE EXPLODED,” Papyrus informs you once he’d squeezed too hard on the container and the gooey substance sort of got all over the counter and his hands. Oh for fuck’s sake. You turn to him to see the damage, and Sans takes his brother’s wrist, and presses the taller monster’s hand against your cheek. You jerk back, only to manage to get your hand in your ice cream.

You look between your ice cream coated hand to Sans, and grin, and when you attempt to smother it all over his face, he dodges and you get it on Papyrus’ shirt instead.

“YOU –“ Papyrus chokes, looking over at Sans.

“You,” you reiterate, also giving him a similar expression.

“*me,” your boyfriend responds cheerfully, giving you both a huge grin. You give Papyrus a glance, raising your eyebrow, and the look that Papyrus gives you has Sans hesitating. “*hey, now, there’s no need to be so… _cold._ ”

Pandemonium breaks loose in the kitchen. First is Papyrus’ screech of indignation, and he leaps at Sans, caramel bottle in hand. You guffaw, grabbing your ice cream bowl and trying to cut off that pun-toting butt wipe as he manages a quick dodge to the left, narrowly missing a glob of caramel. It falls onto the floor, and you’re glad that there’s no carpet in the apartment. Just in case this gets even more out of hand.

Sans nearly knocks the jar of maraschino cherries off the counter, and you breathe out a sigh of relief and a laugh when he catches it before it crashes to the floor. That quickly stops when he opens the jar and reaches in to grab a cherry and lob it at your head. It gets stuck in your hair and he laughs at you, pausing just long enough for you to grab a bit of ice cream and throw it at him. It sticks to the front of his t-shirt.

Papyrus, meanwhile, has decided that this is going to be a free-for-all while you’re not defending against him, and while he stands next to you, you only hear the cap go ‘click’ before you feel the caramel drizzle onto your head. He has the gall to laugh at you, and Sans chucks a couple cherries at him. Reaching into your hair, you grab the cherry and glob of caramel before lunging at Papyrus and smearing it all over the side of his skull while he laughs.

“Taste my victory,” you manage through your giggles, your hand smearing over the side of his face while he tries to turn it away from you, your fingers smearing the sweet goop over the side of his mouth. Sans laughs even harder, and you lunge at him, knocking him to the floor. He manages to catch the two of you before he gets his skull smashed into the counter, and you upturn your bowl, watching his horrified face for a second before it’s covered in vanilla ice cream.

Reaching his hand into it, you think he’s wiping it away, but then he’s shoving his hand into your face, and you jerk back, mouth open in surprise.

You taste vanilla and cherries, and stick out your tongue to lick his hand before it retreats, his eyes wide.

You realize it’s not that he’s looking at when you feel chocolate squeezed out of the container hit your lower back. And then it gets all over Sans, and you find yourself laughing uproariously, almost drowning out Papyrus’ cackle.

You slump down onto Sans, shivering at the cold ice cream soaking through your shirt from his, and lick his cheek. “Welp, I’ve been defeated by the Great Papyrus once again. We should probably pick our fights better, huh, Sans?”

“*yeah, i know what you mean. my bro is the greatest at sundae fights.”

“YOU REALLY THINK –“ Ahem. “OF COURSE I AM. THANK YOU FOR THINKING SO! MAYBE IF YOU KEEP TRAINING, YOU’LL BE ABLE TO HOLD YOUR OWN AGAINST ME SOME DAY!”

“*nah. there’s _snow_ way i could do that.”

“…I’LL LET THAT ONE SLIDE.”

You get up, smearing your gross hands on your pants and sighing. You’ll never get this stuff out. “Well, that was one… _sticky situation._ ”

“HUMAN, NO. YOU’RE BETTER THAN THIS.”

“*i’m so proud.”

“…I think we all need a bath.”

…You’re entirely unsure how it happened, but the three of you were squeezed into the shower together. Something about Papyrus’ insistence on the matter, and it was interesting being squeezed between two monsters in a confined space. It worked out well, though – you guys could get each other’s backs, and Pap was humming a tune while you were in there. It was actually super fucking adorable.

And when you all were done, and the kitchen was cleaned, your clothes in the wash, and you all were dressed in cozy pajamas (you were dressed in some of Sans’ stuff, because you’d have to roll Papyrus’ pants up almost halfway to avoid stepping on them), the three of you settled back down and started watching the next movie.

“*you know, we never did actually eat any ice cream.”

Papyrus jumps up, and you let him get to it. Three is way too many to be in that kitchen, anyway. Especially when ice cream is involved.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, please leave me a comment if there's something you'd like to see in this series! I'd love to write it for you. :3
> 
> Heck, it doesn't even have to be canon. Anything goes, in my house.


End file.
